Tibetan and Himalayan Library - THL

Debate

Procedures and Rules of Debate

Tibetan debates involve two parties: a defender (damchawadam bca’ ba), who answers, and a questioner (riklamparigs lams pa). The roles of
defender and questioner imply very different commitments, as
Daniel Perdue explains: “The defender puts forth assertions
for which he is held accountable. The challenger raises qualms to the defender’s
assertions and is not subject to reprisal for the questions he raises.”37
The responsibility of the defender is to
put forth a true thesis and to defend it. Hence, the defender is accountable for the truth of his assertions.
The questioner, on the contrary, is
responsible only for the questions he puts forth. His questions must be
well-articulated, must logically follow from the points already made, and must be
relevant to defeating the defender. Their
truth content is irrelevant, however, for his task is not to establish a thesis but
to oblige the defender to contradict
either previous statements or common sense.

The debate starts with a ritual invocation of Mañjuśrī, the celestial bodhisattva patron of wisdom: dhīḥji ltar chos can (pronounced
“dhi jitar chöchen”). This invocation can be translated as “dhīḥ [the seed syllable of Mañjuśrī]; in just the
way the subject.” Obviously, this statement is rather unclear and hence offers ample
scope for various creative interpretations, as is often the case with ritual. Some
scholars take the statement to mean “dhīḥ; in just the way [Mañjuśrī investigated] the subject.”38 Others, myself included, read it more
simply as “dhīḥ; in just the way the
subject [is investigated].” This invocation, however, also plays on the homophonic
similarities of the syllable dhīḥ
and this (di’di). Thus, the statement can
also be heard as meaning “This is the way the subject is,” a statement that can be
taken as having deeper implications (an explanation offered by Lati RinpochéBla ti rin po che). The
subject, this, then refers to conventional objects and the
predicate, is the subject, to the empty way in which they exist.

After this ritual invocation, the questioner proposes the topic of the debate in the form of a question, which
seeks to elicit the defender’s thesis. The
defender answers, stating his position.
The questioner may then immediately begin
the debate, or he may first seek auxiliary explanations to clarify the position of
his adversary. The point of this crucial preparatory phase (jorwasbyor ba) is to establish a starting point for the debate, an
area of agreement between the two parties. This may be one of the most delicate
phases of an argument, especially if the two parties do not belong to the same
tradition or monastery.

Such conflictual situations have long existed in the Buddhist
tradition. In ancient India, debates pitched
orthodox Hindu thinkers against their heterodox opponents
(materialist, Jain, Ājīvika, or Buddhist). These debates, which
had political ramifications, were often witnessed by the local authorities, and the
stakes could be the conversion of one group to the views of the other. In Tibet, a similar debate is supposed to have taken place at
the end of the eighth century when Kamalaśīla is said to have defeated the Chinese Chan monk Mo He Yan, thereby establishing the primacy of the Indian tradition.39 More recently, the young KhedrupMkhas grub is said to have
debated and, according to GelukDge lugs accounts, defeated RongtönRong ston. Nowadays, such confrontations between scholars from
different traditions are rare; they have been replaced among GelukpaDge lugs pas by debates between
monasteries. Most debates take place within a single monastery, where the agreement
between parties is easier to establish. Even then, however, fashioning that agreement
is crucial and requires great skill. The questioner must dissimulate his real point and the defender must try to guess where his opponent wants to
lead him.

Once the two parties believe that they agree on the understanding of the terms of the
debate, the main part (ngözhidngos gzhi) can unfold
through questions and answers.40 The questions are meant to draw out the consequences of the defender’s statements in order to oblige him
to contradict himself or to take a blatantly absurd position. To succeed, the questioner must be able to take apart his
opponent’s statements to draw out unwanted consequences. His opponent, the defender, must for his part attempt to block
these contradictions by making further distinctions. In doing so, he must give one of
the three allowable answers:41

I accept (dö’dod).

The reason is not established
(ta madruprtags ma
grub).

There is no pervasion (khyappa majungkhyab pa ma
byung).

These three answers derive from the link (or lack thereof) of the reason with the
subject and the pseudo-predicate. The defender can say “I accept,” if he
thinks that the consequence supports his position. Or he can say “the reason is not established,” when the reason does not
correspond to the subject. For example, the consequence “It follows that all dogs are
intelligent because they are primates” is faulty because dogs are not primates.
Hence, the reason is not established. Or he can say “there is no pervasion” when the reason does not entail
the pseudo-predicate as in the consequence “It follows that all dogs are primates
because they are mammals.” In such a consequence, the reason is established but does
not entail the pseudo-predicate. Or, to put it more literally, there is no pervasion.

As SapenSapaṇ noticed, these
three answers differ from the Indian model. Most
clearly a Tibetan invention is the third answer (there is no pervasion), which does not exist
in Dharmakīrti’s
debating tradition. There, defenders must
make explicit whether the reason is contrary (gelwa’gal
ba) or just uncertain (mangepama nges pa), that
is, inconclusive. Thus defenders have four
answers to choose from and need to make their response more specific.42 This
difference illustrates the originality of Tibetan
practices, which go beyond imitating Indian models in
responding to the Tibetan context. Moreover, the
failure of non-GelukDge lugs
institutions to follow SapenSapaṇ’s recommendations regarding these answers shows again the
domination of the SangpuGsang phu tradition of debate throughout the Tibetan world.

One of the three allowable answers must be given to all well-formed consequences. In
order to be well-formed (like the examples above), a statement should contain three
terms: a subject, a pseudo-predicate, and a reason. It should also avoid ambiguity.
For example, if the questioner asks
whether humans have male or female sexual organs, the defender will not be able to answer without
disambiguating the subject (human). At that point, the defender must state his objection. In addition,
consequences should not lead defenders
into paradoxes (so judged by the rules of conversation). For example, consider the
following question: “Did you bring back the computer you stole?” Such a statement
cannot be answered straightforwardly without implying an admission of guilt. In all
these cases, the defender should point to
such a faulty formulation by saying, “the subject
is faulty” (chöchen kyönchenchos can skyon can). But absent such faults, the
defender has no choice. The ability to
give one of the three allowable answers while making meaningful statements is a sign
of a good defender. In difficult
situations, defenders often try to muddle
the situation and break the flow of consequences by saying, “What I really mean is. .
.” These explanations are not accepted and reflect poorly on the defender. The questioner may reply, “No need to say much; just give one of the three
answers.” Or he may mock the defender,
pretending that his adversary is a great teacher about to give a sermon. In most
cases, defenders are brought back, more or
less gently, to the three answers.

Another element in debate is that defenders must answer quickly. Whenever a defender delays his answer, the questioner urges him on with rhythmic triple handclaps punctuated by the
words “chirphyir, chirphyir, chirphyir” (i.e., chi chirci’i phyir,
“why”). If this is a
formal debate, the audience joins in, thus increasing the pressure on the defender. If the defender still does not answer, the questioner and the audience may start to tease him: “Are
you here or are you absorbed in meditation?” If still nothing is forthcoming, the
questioner either provides the required
information himself or recasts his point in a simpler form. In this way, the debate
is made so clear that the defender must
answer. If he still cannot, a member of the audience is likely to step in and answer
in his place. Such an outcome is humiliating for the defender, a sign that he is not up to the task.

It is in this framework that the debate unfolds strategically. The questioner tries to force his opponent either to
contradict himself or to contradict common sense. To do so, he must be able to break
down complex arguments into simple elements that can be expressed in a chain of
well-formed consequences that follow each other logically. He must also keep track of
the position of his adversary and where he wants to take him. The defender must figure out the questioner’s strategy and thwart his efforts, using only
the three answers.

Let us take the example of a debate about the definition of impermanence, which is
“that which is momentary.”43
The debate starts by delineating the agreement between both parties. The questioner may ask for further clarification,
with such questions as “What does moment mean in this
definition?” “Does it refer to a brief moment or to a longer one?” The defender may answer that the moment implied
by momentary is brief. The questioner then
proceeds to draw consequences, thinking that he has enough to go on. He may start,
“It follows that things last only for a short moment since they are momentary.” This
statement is framed to embody the defender’s answer concerning the meaning of momentariness and is considered
the root consequence (tsawé telgyurrtsa ba’i thal ’gyur),
which derives from the root thesis (tsawé damchartsa ba’i dam
bca’) that the defender must be
made to contradict.

The questioner proceeds by drawing out
unwanted consequences intended to force the defender to give the no-pervasion answer that contradicts his explanation
of the meaning of momentariness. For if the meaning of momentariness is to last only
for a short moment, then being momentary must entail lasting for a short moment. To
deny this and hold that there is no pervasion is thus tantamount to directly
contradicting the thesis. Presented with the root consequence that embodies his view
of the meaning of momentariness, the defender must try to thwart the questioner’s attempts by choosing the answer that he can defend and does
not contradict his earlier point. In this example, he has one obvious choice: to
assent to the consequence. The other possibility, the rejection of the reason as
being not established, is less defensible, since it contradicts the fundamental
Buddhist view that all things are momentary. And, as noted,
saying that there is no pervasion would contradict his thesis concerning the meaning
of momentariness. Hence, he will assent to the question, thereby agreeing with a
classical interpretation of the Buddhist doctrine of impermanence.
The questioner’s task is then to oblige
the defender to back off from his
acceptance of the root statement, forcing him to make the no-pervasion answer that
contradicts his main thesis. To do so, the questioner will draw unwanted consequences from the defender’s position, pushing him to make
counterintuitive statements until he reaches the point of absurdity. For example, the
questioner will point to a mountain and
state: “It follows that this mountain also lasts for a short moment since it is
momentary.” If the defender still agrees,
the questioner may point to the fact that
it cannot exist just for a short moment since the mountain has been there for
millions of years. He may also try to oblige his opponent to agree with blatantly
counterintuitive statements. For example, he can ask: “Have you never seen any object
lasting more than a moment? Have you never seen any object older than a moment? Have
you never seen any person older than a moment?”44

Obliging the defender to make ridiculous
statements is one of the ways for the questioner to gain the upper hand, forcing a reductio ad absurdum that can be
seen as tantamount to a defeat of the defender. But although this way of ending the debate can be quite fun, it is
not favored, for it is difficult to distinguish a blatant absurdity from an
apparently counterintuitive but valid point. Hence, debaters prefer to end with their
opponents’ self-contradiction. In our example, the defender may try to back away from the counterintuitive
consequences that the questioner has
drawn. He may agree that there are objects older than a moment. At this point, the
questioner must take the defender back to his root statement and
oblige him to contradict himself. He may state: “It follows that the mountain lasts
for more than one moment, since it is older than a moment.” The questioner will try to resist; for example, he might
attempt to make distinctions between “being older than” and “lasting for more than.”
The defender must then try to block these
attempts. If he succeeds, he will be able to take the defender back to his root statement, which he will
restate: “It follows that things last only for a short moment since they are
momentary.” At that point, the defender
has an unenviable choice between two answers: reason not established and
no-pervasion. The former implies the rejection of the fundamental Buddhistview that things are momentary. If he chooses this answer, a whole new
debate starts. The questioner may try a
rhetorical jab: “I thought you were a Buddhist!” But such a move
can also backfire. The defender can turn
the tables on the questioner, taunting him
to establish this fundamental tenet: “I know what great masters such as Dharmakīrti would say. But
let us see what you can do!” The questioner will then have to mount a new attack to oblige the defender to retract his rejection of this
Buddhist tenet. If the questioner succeeds, the defender will have no other choice than to give the answer that here dooms
him: “There is no pervasion.” This is the moment of triumph for the questioner, who will express his victory by saying:
“the root thesis is finished (tsawé damcha tsarrtsa ba’i dam
bca’ tshar)” or, more briefly, “oh,
it’s finished (o tsaro’ tshar)”.45

This is the end of this debate, with the clear victory of the questioner. This victory is due to a direct
contradiction between two statements and hence is easily detectable. Such clarity of
outcome may explain why there is no formal role for a witness in Tibetan debates. Unlike Indian debates, which proceeded according to formal argumentative criteria on
which a witness could adjudicate, Tibetan debates
proceed through consequences aimed at exposing direct contradictions in the views of
the defender. Detecting such
contradictions does not require any special skills and hence the presence of a
witness is not necessary.

Not all debates end in a defeat for the defender. Sometimes the questioner
is unable to force the defender into
contradicting himself and the debate ends in a stalemate. At other times, the defender gives an answer that establishes his
view as being well-founded. In our example, the defender may succeed in maintaining that not all things are impermanent
and hence escape contradicting himself. He might end his successful defense with a
little rhetorical dig, marking his understanding that he has contradicted a basic
Buddhist tenet for the sake of argument: “Fortunately,
Dharmakīrti was
smarter than you. If all Buddhists were like you, we would have
long ago ceased to be Buddhist!” This is a clear victory for the
defender, especially if he succeeds in
making some good points in the process. Sometimes the debate ends abruptly when the
questioner’s debate breaks down (taksel chértags bsal chad) and he is left without
anything to say. When this happens in an individual debate, the embarrassment is
minimal. But in a formal debate (damchadam bca’) the
experience can be quite humiliating. The questioner may be left standing speechless in the midst of a large
audience for a couple of extraordinarily painful minutes, until the abbot or the
disciplinarian rescues him by bringing the debate to a merciful end. The defender may then make matters worse with a
few unpleasant comments—for example, “You used to brag so much! Where is your debate
now?” Most questioners manage to assert,
often stammeringly, a few random consequences. However, it is clear to everyone that
their debate has broken down and that they are just trying to avoid humiliation.

In the cases of such a victory or of a stalemate, there are no formal criteria
according to which the debate can be adjudicated. For example, if the defender is ridiculed, there are no formal
ways to determine what is ridiculous and what is not. The same is also true when the
questioner’s debate simply fades away.
In these cases, the outcome cannot be determined formally and hence there is little
role for a witness. The outcome is left to the often conflicting opinions of
participants and listeners. It is only in the case of a direct contradiction on the
defender’s part that the outcome can be
formally decided, a remarkable feature of Tibetan
debates.

The Physicality of Tibetan Debates

One of the striking features of Tibetan debates is that
they are quite physical. They are marked by emphatic gestures, such as the clapping
used by the questioner to punctuate each question . The questioner holds his right hand above his
right shoulder—a little over the head—and stretches his left hand forward, its palm
turned upward. Then he strikes the palm of the left hand with the palm of his right
and immediately crosses his arms before starting the movement all over again for the
next question. These gestures are thought to have great symbolic value.46 The putting forward of the left hand symbolizes closing the
doors of the lower states of rebirth. The coming together of the two hands symbolizes
the union of the two aspects of the path, wisdom and method (i.e., compassionate
actions). Drawing back the right hand marks one’s wish to liberate all sentient
beings. Debaters are rarely aware of such symbolic meanings, however. For them, the
gestures function primarily to stage debates, bringing them a clarity and a
decisiveness that can help mobilize the intellectual capacities of the debaters and
capture the attention of the audience.

There are also gestures used at more particular occasions. For example, when a
respondent gives an answer that the questioner holds to be false, the latter must circle his opponent’s head
three times with his right hand while screaming in a loud and shrill voice, “These are the three circles” (di khor sum’di ’khor gsum).47 In more formal settings, the whole crowd joins in with the questioner, thus subjecting the respondent to
further psychological pressure. During geshédge bshes exams, when the respondent wears a hat to mark the solemnity of
the occasion, the questioner can grab his
opponent’s hat and circle the latter’s head with it three times to emphasize the
mistake.48

Debate also involves prescribed modes of behavior. The debate starts, as I mentioned
earlier, with a ritual invocation of Mañjuśrī (dhi jitar chöchendhīḥ ji ltar chos can) in a loud and high-pitched
tone. The debater then puts his questions in a very low voice barely audible to the
audience. During this initial phase, he also wears his upper robe (zengzan) in the usual way (covering the left shoulder
and leaving the right bare). His gestures are contained and he often bends forward
toward the defender, as a sign of humility
and respect. For the parties to successfully engage with differing points of view,
they must respect each other. But these gestures are also elements in the skillful
strategy that debate requires. A good debater does not show his hand and does not
raise expectations. Hence, he should start in a low key, masking his intentions and
inducing a false sense of security in his adversary. It is only when the victim is
trapped that he reveals his plan and ups the intensity. Then the initial show of
respect takes on a retrospective irony, as is appropriate to this ludic and agonistic
enterprise. When the questioner feels that
the basis for the debate has been laid down and that he has enough material to
demonstrate his opponent’s mistake, he wraps his upper robe around his waist, a sign
of his understanding and control. Instead of bending forward, he stands tall and
makes broad and forceful gestures, clapping his hands loudly to stress the power and
decisiveness of his arguments. At that point, any pretense to humility is gone,
replaced with self-assurance and self-confidence.

This decisiveness also involves some aggression. In its milder manifestations, it
takes the form of loud clapping and vigorous verbal exchanges. Sometimes, however,
things escalate and one party may start to taunt the other: “Come on, answer; you
think you know so much, don’t you?” Things can get even more heated, and ridicule may
follow. A skilled rhetorician can be devastatingly effective in a large public
gathering, hurling a clever name that may stick to a person for the rest of his life.
It is hard not to fall apart when one is ridiculed in front of hundreds, perhaps even
thousands, of scholars and students. Shoving matches are also common, when several
people attempt to put their questions to the defender. Noisy demonstrations of
victory and sarcasm to humiliate one’s opponents are often observed, particularly
when the questioner has obliged the defender to contradict his basic point and
expresses his victory by saying, “The root thesis is finished.” While saying this, he
slaps his hand in a particular way. Instead of hitting one palm against the other, as
in the usual accompaniment to every statement, he hits the back of the right hand
against the left palm to signify that the defender has contradicted himself. In this
psychologically intense moment, the questioner expresses his glee at crushing his
adversary. Some take a sadistic pleasure in repeating “The root thesis is finished”
several times, with sweeping gestures and humiliating comments. Stein describes a
particularly colorful and graphic expression of victory: “The winner of the debate is
borne in triumph on his colleagues’ shoulders, sometimes, it seems, humiliating the
loser (in Sikkim, the loser has been known to get
on all fours, with the winner riding on his back and spurring him on with his
heels).”49 I have heard but never observed that on
extremely rare occasions, respondents completely fall apart, disintegrating under the
onslaught and sobbing out of control. At other times, people get really angry or
vicious, creating enmity that can last a lifetime and poison the atmosphere around
them. There are even reports of monks coming to blows.

How can Buddhist monks, who are supposed to be peaceful and
detached, behave like this? Don’t such actions show that the soteriological claims of
the tradition are merely pretense? As the earlier discussion of commentary has
already shown, answering such questions is not a simple matter. The relation between
soteriology and intellectual activities is complex and fraught with tension—but it is
clearly not oppositional. Hence, explanations such as Sierskma’s
thesis of “a conflict between Tibetan tradition and
Buddhist religion” will not do.50

The Tibetan tradition is quite aware of the dangers of
debate but sees them as counterbalanced by its benefits. Because debates are
intensely physical, participants can give vent to considerable energy. Their
exertions are heightened further by the performance involved in the debate, the
theatrics of the respondent’s emphatic gestures (some people are very good at making
fun of their opponents by their gestures), and occasional pokes and sharp words. Such
performances enable debates to be appreciated by laypeople and uninformed monks, who
take delight in the spectacle, despite their inability to follow the verbal parrying.
Debaters make outrageous comments or look angry while debating, with the
understanding that they are putting on a good show. As
Sierskma’s informant explains, “We look angry when we are
debating, but we are not angry. It is our custom. When one is only a beginner, one
thinks that the snga-rgol (the questioners) are very, very angry and one is very, very ashamed. But
when one has become a debater oneself, one knows that they are not angry and that it
is a custom.”51 This performative aspect leads to intense emotional
involvement—mere intellect is not powerful enough. As one scholar commented, the
questions that debates deal with are so technical that it is not always possible to
feel excited about their content alone. A little staging is helpful in producing
enthusiasm and allowing participants to mobilize intellectual resources that
otherwise would not be available. This intense physical and emotional involvement
explains why Tibetan scholars love debate so much. They
become excited when they talk about it and miss it once their training is finished.
Older scholars often advise students to savor their times as debaters: “This is the
best time in the life of a scholar. After this, all fades in comparison.”

Yet such intensity also can be dangerous. There are clear cases of monks using debate
for the sole purpose of settling old scores or advancing their own ambitions. In
twelve years of practicing debates, I have sometimes seen abuses committed. I have
seen people attempting to wound and humiliate their adversaries or becoming genuinely
angry. These cases are rare, however, and most debates reflect an honest interest in
intellectual exchange.52 I have never seen blows exchanged or
witnessed any of the other outrageous behaviors reported in the literature.53 But I
have often heard teachers deploring these excesses and urging their students not to
forget the real purpose of the exercise. The teachers also regretted the monks’
tendency to be too invested in immediate results. “Take the whole thing as an
exercise, be open to being shown wrong, and you will learn,” was their unanimous
advice. Although that advice was not always strictly followed, the overall tone of
the debates showed that the attitude it reflected was dominant. As one of my teachers
marveled, “Isn’t it great to have all these people displaying such engagement and
even aggression within such a peaceful atmosphere? Isn’t this what the practice of
Buddhism is all about?” I am not sure what to make of this last
comment, for his description also captures the essence of good sporting competitions.
But it does convey the overall atmosphere of debates, which are veritable
intellectual sports.

The vigorous cultivation of a sharp mind also has other risks, such as encouraging
pride and an inability to use the teaching for anything but self-aggrandizement.
Mindful of these dangers, teachers often admonish their students to check and correct
their motivations.54 Nevertheless, they are
generally confident that the final result of this practice, the knowledge and insight
developed by many students, will offset whatever real dangers and temptations
accompany it. The teachers see no reason why something that is intellectually useful
cannot be fun. One of their great accomplishments is to give life to a demanding
intellectual inquiry into highly technical topics. Debate is for them “a mental sport
[that] has the advantage of being most useful and delightful.”55 The enthusiastic responses of those, myself included, who have
been privileged to have sufficient exposure to this discipline to understand it seem
to support their confidence and testify to their pedagogical successes.

From this brief and necessarily simplified discussion, we can draw several
conclusions. First, the character of debate is clearly dialogical. The course of this
exchange between two parties is not determined in advance, for it depends on the
choices of the participants. Second, debate is a game that is oriented toward winning
an argument. The goal of the questioner is
to draw the defender into contradicting
either himself or common sense. Similarly, the goal of the defender is to ward off unwanted consequences, thereby
escaping the questioner’s line of argument. Third, like other games, debate is
intensely strategic. Each party must try to take his adversary along, either by the
power of the arguments used or by lawful tricks. Good debaters keep in mind their
target, remembering the starting point and the intermediary arguments. Fourth, debate
is complex and instructive. Because it involves making and remembering many choices
and distinctions, it requires intense concentration. It is also intellectually
challenging, demanding clarity of mind and strong analytical skills. Participants and
audience often learn something new from the debate. One of the marks of a good
defender is his ability to provide insights into his topic without compromising the
strength of his positions. Fifth, debate is performative and fun, because the
discussion is enlivened by physical gestures, the intensity and rhetorical skills of
the participants, and the influence of the audience. A good debate is akin to a
theatrical event. It is full of surprises, with either party apt to outdo the other
and escape from seemingly hopeless situations by making new and more subtle
distinctions. It is indeed a thrilling intellectual sport, highly appreciated by
students, established scholars, and even laypeople. And finally, a Tibetan debate is (at least ideally) impressive for its
orderliness and clarity. questioner and
defender have clear roles, and the
alternation of questions and answers is easy to follow. This clarity is greatly
enhanced by the very strict rules that a debate must follow. For, like any other
game, debate follows rules that determine its nature. These rules limit rather
narrowly the participants’ moves and provide standards for appraising arguments. They
also impose order, enabling debate to avoid the confusion that often mars ordinary
arguments. But this clarity has its limits, for the practice of debate cannot be
fully captured by any formula.

The Schedule of Debating Institutions

The importance of debate in the GelukDge lugs tradition should by now be quite clear. Our investigation is far
from complete, however, for we have yet to examine its practical modalities—the
schedule that structures such a practice and the ways it was organized. In discussing
the schedule of the three GelukDge lugs seats [GandenDga’ ldan, SeraSe ra and Drepung’Bras spungs, JIC], we need to
recognize the differences between premodern Tibet
and exile. The fundamental distinction drawn in Tibet between debate sessions
(chötokchos thog)
and debate breaks (chötsamchos mtshams) is less marked
in exile. In Tibet, there were eight debate sessions in the year, which alternated
with eight breaks.56 During the sessions, students debated; during the breaks, they memorized and studied commentaries
with their teachers. Five sessions
would last one month, and three a fortnight, while seven of the eight breaks lasted from five to fifteen
days; the great debate break during summer
retreat lasted a month and a half. The rest of the time was apportioned to a variety
of celebrations, such as the New Year and the Great Prayer festival. Each of the debate sessions had prescribed topics that students had
to cover.57

An exact pre-1959 schedule is hard to reconstruct, for few Tibetan monks then had watches. Hence, accounts tend to be vague.
Moreover, the precise times of activities may have also been influenced by various
circumstances (the season, festivities, etc.). Nevertheless, Geshé Rabten offers the following schedule for debate
sessions in the JéByes monastery of SeraSe ra:58

5:30-7:00

General assembly

7:00-10:00

Morning debate

10:00-11:00

Monastery assembly

11:00-13:00

Noon debate

13:00-13:30

Lunch

14:00-16:00

Afternoon debate

16:00-17:00

Evening assembly

17:00-19:00

Evening prayer and short debate

19:00-20:00

Teaching

20:30-21:30

Night debate

22:00-23:00

Recitation

Though the schedule in other monasteries was probably slightly different, its rhythm
was similar, as debate alternated with ritual. Monks would start the day with the
morning prayer in the great assembly
hall (tsokchentshogs chen) of the monastic seat (here SeraSe ra), where
they would pray and receive tea (hence the name of this prayer, mangjadmangs ja: i.e., “common tea”). Rich sponsors might provide food
and money. After that, they alternated debates and more prayer sessions. At noon,
they would go to the assembly hall of the monastery (here JéByes). There they were given
tea—and perhaps food and money, if the donor was generous. If there was a sponsor, an
assembly would be held in the evening. Otherwise, monks had to provide for their own
evening tea and food (if they ate).59 After the
evening assembly, the evening prayer took place. This ritual usually
lasted at least two hours, as long as or even longer than the evening debates. The
night then went on with debate, classes, and recitations.60

Examinations and the Organization of Debate

The practical organization of debate in exile has undergone changes, though its
overall structure has remained the same. Debate is still carried on in the courtyard,
where monks confront each other in two ways:

In the individual debate (tsödartsod zla; lit., “debate with a partner”), monks pair with each other,
one standing and playing the role of the questioner, and the other sitting down
and playing the role of the defender. Before ending the encounter, they may switch
roles. If the debate goes well, it can last for a while and attract other monks
who have finished their individual debates. As the debate continues (sometimes for
hours), the surrounding circle grows. Some observers may jump in on one side or
the other. This is a time of high excitement for the debating pair who find
themselves enveloped by tens and sometimes hundreds of monks listening
attentively.

In the formal debate (damchadam bca’;
lit., “defense”), the entire group focuses on a single debate. One or two students
sit as defenders while the others sit in rows facing the empty space in front of
the answerer(s). A student stands, moves into this empty space, and starts the
debate, knowing that the whole group will support him. If he gets stuck, those in
the audience can jump in and help him. Thus, in a formal debate, all who are
present can question one or two defenders, who must stand alone. As we will see,
this exercise is quite difficult when a large crowd is involved, as during the
geshédge bshes exam. On such
occasions, the candidate’s ability as a defender is tested to its limit.

Monks move through such practices in an organized and systematic fashion. They follow
a prescribed curriculum in a set order, the studies being organized by classes, or
cohorts. When a student starts his studies, he enters into a class of students, who
study a set number of topics per year. They start together with the Collected Topics and move on to the study of
the five texts, each topic being studied at the prescribed time by all the members of
the class. Each year, the class moves ahead with all of its members. In Sera JéSe ra byes,
there are fifteen classes:

Lharamlha rams (review of the
whole curriculum in preparation for the geshédge bshes exam)

Each class chooses a reciting leader
(kyorpönskyor
dpon), who is responsible for organizing collective debates and memorizing the
prescribed texts at ritual occasions.62
This reciting leader also ensures that students debate the designated subject at the
proper time. Because students of the same class debate with each other every day,
they spend a great deal of time with members of their cohort. For example, every day
of the debate session (discussed above), monks debate collectively with their
classmates, as each class engages in one formal debate. Larger collective debates
involving the whole monastery or even the whole seat are done only on formal
occasions, usually at examination time. When students debate individually, often
young monks will seek older students to test their skills. It is considered poor form
for a senior to refuse to answer a younger monk.

A given class does not share the same teacher, for each student may choose his own.
This diversity is a good thing for the class, as different teachers express
conflicting views, which give rise to further debate. It also drives home the point
that the teachers’ opinions cannot be taken as authoritative. In a debate, saying
“This is so because my teacher said so” is considered tantamount to admitting that
one lacks any ability to think for oneself. Reasonings or texts, not people, are held
to be definitive.

Tibetan scholars permit the quotation of texts in
debate, if a questioner is unable to make his point purely on the strength of his
arguments. He may say, for instance, that compassion is the loving attitude that
wishes sentient beings to be free from suffering because this is stated by
such-and-such an authoritative thinker (usually the author of the manual of the
monastery, or TsongkhapaTsong kha pa and his disciples). Such an argument is allowed and used
quite frequently in debates, even though it blatantly violates a basic rule of
Buddhist logic: a citation cannot be used to prove a fact that
can be established otherwise…

Although Tibetan scholars accept the use of quotes in
debate on all topics, they disagree on the value of such a move. This disagreement
parallels their different understandings of the role of debate. Some scholars see
debate mostly as a pedagogical tool useful for internalizing the content of the great
texts. For them, the use of a quote is perfectly legitimate in that it helps students
commit the tradition to memory. Others see debate as a means of intellectual inquiry
in its own right. Hence, they prefer an argument to a quote, as the use of the quote
reveals the weakness of the debater’s position. Moreover, using a quote in a debate
is not as strong a move as one may think, for it is often possible for the defender
to interpret away the quote by providing a convenient gloss.

In pre-1959 Tibet, scholastic studies were optional
and reserved for those who were really committed.63
Beginners could expect to start with several hundred students in their cohort. By the
end, ten or fifteen would be left. Every year, many students would leave, either
going back to their native province or settling for the more leisurely life of a
nonscholar monk. On the other hand, monks who were interested in studying could
expect to be able to continue if they were reasonably diligent—particularly since
most examinations precluded the possibility of failure. A student might never reach a
given examination, but once he did he was assured of a positive outcome, regardless
of his performance.

There was no system of yearly examinations and the assessment of knowledge was not
very effective. Students would be promoted regardless of their scholarly progress.
Only at certain crucial junctures would they be examined. These examinations differed
among the monasteries, according to the customs of each institution. The student’s
first examination demonstrated that his memorization of his monastery’s prescribed
ritual texts had qualified him to start his scholastic study. The next trial came
several years later, at the end of the studies of the Collected Topics, when he would sit in a formal debate
in front of his regional house. But as was often the case in examinations, there was
no question of failing. Not every student would be examined; and when a candidate did
poorly, more seasoned scholars would answer for him, suggesting that the main point
was not to demonstrate possession of knowledge but to signify a ritual passage from
one stage of study to the next.

When the student was well into the study of the Ornament, he would again be examined in ways that varied among different
monasteries. At Sera JéSe ra byes, for instance, students were tested on their memorization and
examined through debates while studying the Ornament in the second class devoted to this text.64 The
better students would then be given the opportunity to take part in a special
ceremonial debate in front of the whole monastery called the small reasoning (rikchungrigs chung). During this debate, for which
they prepared with great care, students would be paired, one debating and the other
answering. The debate was preceded by preliminary examinations in the form of formal
debates in the different regional houses. Other monasteries, including GomangSgo mang and
LosellingBlo gsal gling, emphasized the Small Reasoning less and debate between classes
more. The main exam concerning the Ornament would
consist of debates between the classes studying this text. On this formal occasion,
the debate would be started by the recitation leader, who oversaw the whole
procedure. But here again, not every student was examined. Many would sit through
these proceedings without saying very much, leaving the task of dealing with the
other class to their more active colleagues.65

In exile, the trend has been toward a more rationalized system in which the progress
of individuals can be more tightly monitored. Unlike in premodern Tibet, where even in the great monastic seats only a
minority of monks would study, in exile most now study. Accordingly, students are
tested yearly on their memorization and their debates. A written examination, which
is taking on increasing importance, has also been instituted. Students can be and are
failed, although that outcome is still relatively rare. A similar system also exists
at the Buddhist School of Dialectics and other
smaller institutions, where students are examined on a regular basis. Even Tibetan monks find it difficult to escape the iron cage of
modernity!

[38] So Perdue puts it: “dhīḥ! The subject, in just the way [mañjuśrī
debated]” (Debate in Tibetan Buddhism, 103).

[39] See D. S. Ruegg, Buddha-nature, Mind, and the Problem of Gradualism in a Comparative
Perspective: On the Transmission and Reception of Buddhism in India and
Tibet (London: School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 1989).

[40] SapenSapaṇ
differentiates three phases in debate: a preparation (jorwasbyor ba) in which the two proponents seek
a common basis, the main part (ngözhidngos gzhi) of the debate, and the
conclusion (jukmjug) during which the
witness summarizes the argument and establishes the winner (C. Beckwith, “The Medieval Scholastic Method in Tibet and in the West,” in Reflections on Tibetan Culture: Essays
in Memory of Turrell V. Wylie, ed. L.
Epstein and R. Sherburne
[Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellon Press, 1990], 307-13). In actual Tibetan debates, the third element is absent since there is no
witness.

[41] The three
answers concern complete statements containing three terms (subject,
pseudo-predicate, and reason). In the GelukDge lugs tradition, an incomplete
consequence is allowable. Consider this statement: “It follows that the subject, a
mountain, lasts only for a short instant.” Such a statement has only two parts,
but is nonetheless considered well-formed since it allows a straightforward
answer. An incomplete statement can be answered in two ways: either by accepting
(dö’dod; lit., “[I] accept”)
or by refusing (ci’i phyirci’i phyir; lit., “why”) it. In our
example, these answers mean: I accept that the mountain lasts only for a short
instant; or, I do not accept that the mountain lasts only for a short instant. If
the latter answer is given, the rigs lams pa can immediately state the incomplete
consequence: “It follows that the subject, the mountain, does not last only for a
short instant.” The only possible answer to such a consequence is positive; any
other is considered a breach of rules of rational discourse. Because other
traditions have reconstituted their practice of debate by imitating GelukDge lugs
practices, they follow this usage. Shākya ChokdenShākya mchog ldan seems to disagree with this
practice, however, arguing that only three-part consequences should be
used.

[44] The defender is in a difficult position in this debate. Non-GelukDge lugs scholars would answer such a claim, which is often presented by GelukDge lugs
scholars as a refutation of their views, by making a quasi-Humean distinction
between the domain of reality, where duration does not exist, and the conceptual
domain, where duration is necessary. In reality, there is no duration—only a
succession of similar moments that create the false but useful impression that
things last. True to their moderate realism, the GelukDge lugs tradition understands
momentariness in a more commonsensical way. For them, a phenomenon is momentary
not because it lasts only a moment but because it is composed of temporal parts
and hence is in constant transformation. On these differences in the understanding
of the concepts of impermanence and momentariness, see Dreyfus, Recognizing
Reality, 63-65, 106-16.

[45] The exact
meaning of the statement o tsaro’ tshar is not easy to establish. I have it as “Oh, it’s
finished,” where oo’ is taken as an interjection. It could also be taken as
directed at the opponent

[46] For a description of the symbolism of monastic
gestures, see Geshe Rabten, The Life and Teaching of Geshé Rabten: A Tibetan Lama’s
Search for Truth, trans. and ed. B. A. Wallace (London: Allen and Unwin, 1980), 12-24.

[47] The “three circles” refer to three conditions
that the consequence must satisfy to checkmate the respondent. In the example “It
follows that the subject, the sound, is not produced since it is permanent,” such
a consequence is appropriate only to a person who fulfills three conditions: he
admits that the sound is permanent, holds that whatever is permanent is not
produced, and holds that the sound is produced. Such a person has completed the
three circles and hence cannot give a correct answer without contradicting
himself. In practice, the expression is used to signal any mistake in the
respondent’s answer and not just the ones that satisfy these three
criteria.

[48] Rules govern how the respondent
wears his hat. When the topic is introduced, the respondent takes his hat off out
of respect for the debater, holding it until the basis for the debate has been
laid out. He then puts the hat on again, a sign that he has mastered the topic and
is ready to answer. Should he lose, however, the respondent has to take his hat
off, admitting his defeat. If he does not do so, the questioner may grab the hat
himself.

[51]
Sierskma, “rTsod pa,” 140. Unfortunately,
Sierskma does not take his informants’ comments seriously;
he elaborates his own far-fetched theory of debate as a
non-Buddhist element in Tibetan
culture, ignoring the rich Indian dialectical
tradition.

[52] One hesitates to call
the motives of debaters “pure.” Monks, like most people, act for complex reasons.
Serious intellectual and religious interests do not exclude personal dislikes and
ambitions. Knowing this, teachers do not object to ambition as long as it does not
become a student’s main preoccupation.

[54] Motivation is obviously
important, but it is also highly individual and volatile. Some students remain
driven throughout their studies by personal ambitions. This was particularly
common in Tibet, where a title of geshédge bshes
could lead to considerable power. Others lose such worldly ambitions during their
studies, while still others acquire them at the monastery. Lati RinpochéBla ti rin po che used
to comment on how the exile changed the perspective of many. Some who were good
scholars lost interest in studying, perhaps realizing that their ambitions had
become unattainable or perhaps becoming interested in the new possibilities of the
modern world. Conversely, others became much better scholars in exile, realizing
the fragilities of worldly goods. In any case, we must recognize both the
importance and the complexity of motivation.

[55]
Sierskma, “rTsod pa,” 140.
Sierskma is here quoting an informant, not expressing his
own opinion.

This is only,
however, the skeleton in which many other events were integrated. For example, the Great Summer Debate Session at Sera JéSe ra byes would last from 5.16 to 6.15. During this time,
many events took place:

5.16-17

Formal debates during the period of wood begging
(shinglongshing slong; i.e., the period during which monks would have been allowed to leave the
monastery to beg for wood and other necessities)

Night debate or
recitation for younger monks not yet allowed to debate

[61] The four classes on the Ornament are beginning and advanced treatises
(zhung sarnyinggzhung gsar rnying),
and beginning and advanced separate topics
(zurkö sarnyingzur bkod gsar rnying).
See Rabten, The Life and
Teaching, 38, and Chatrim ChenmoBca’ khrims chen mo, 83-84.

[62] The
name “reciting leader” comes from the function of this class leader during the
recitations
(tsipzhakrtsib bzhag):
the abbot recites by heart the appropriate passages from the
monastery’s manuals, and the reciting leader must then repeat each passage. This
recitation is nowadays purely ceremonial, a reminder of the times when the manuals
were not codified and the abbot would give his own commentary. Then, the reciting
leader would have received this teaching and shared it with his classmates.